


A Lesson in Love and Dependence

by CDWin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Child Abuse, Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, F/M, Foster Care, M/M, Original Character(s), POV Multiple, Rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 08:46:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11756232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CDWin/pseuds/CDWin
Summary: Heroin makes Cas very happy. Yet so does Sam. Until Dean pops into the picture and it all goes to hell.





	1. Cotton Faded Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if I will ever finish this, but I might as well post what I have. :) Also, this fic is my first and very very dark and there are a lot of offensive and terrible things so please read through the tags and be warned!

She slid down on him. The water pounding onto them both. His eyes frantically searching, trying to focus on anything other than her. He found sweet relief in letting his eyes squeeze shut. Oh shit. Shouldn’t he moan or huff or.. or something? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?  
“Castiel…”  
He forces himself out of his mind and back to her, opening his eyes in the process.  
“Don’t you love me? Look at me. If you love me, you will come. Enjoy it.”  
Oh god. He hates her. He hates his body for reacting to touch, opposite of what he truly wants. But if he doesn’t do this she will tell everybody that he isn’t like the other boys. That he doesn’t want sex, or at least not with her. If he comes that means he wants it, right? No matter how much she forces herself on him, if he comes that means it’s okay. Right? He fights his disgust. His body betrays him. With a huff he comes.  
Meg.  
With a chuckle, she gets off him. Ready to continue her shower.  
“Now that wasn’t too bad, was it Clarence?”  
He hates himself. He can’t look her in the eye as she laughs, lathering herself in soap. The shower reeks of his cum, Irish spring body soap, and self-loathing. He wrenches himself from the built-in seat in the modern, slate grey, glass walled shower, as he dry heaves. She laughs. Did she ever stop? He thought he could do this. He had thought wrong.  
He walked home that night, two hours across town, after declining the ride she offered. He continually attempted (and failed) to pull himself out of his own mind. He needed to pay attention at this time of night. His corner of the city was the one filled with low-lives. The scum of the earth. Right where he belonged. His second-floor apartment he shared with is twin brother, Jimmy, was dark. Paid for by his no-show father every month. A ghost of a smile passes over his cracked lips. Funny how they have no food, no essentials; funny how their father pays for the rent but refuses anything else. Refuses to acknowledge their pitiful existence, being a ghost who writes a check each month as if that would make things better.  
The lock slides back with a thick clunk, the door scrapes the floor as it opens adding more wear to the already worn floor. He can hear the neighbors screaming at each other through the thin, non-insulated wall. An argument fueled by their love and hate, the strength of emotion on par with the addiction fueled mania. Would he ever get the chance to scream at a man he loves? He wrenches his eyes from the dim wall, the cracked plaster, the raw emotion and discontent. His eyes eventually settle on his brother Jimmy. Currently asleep, curled in on himself upon his mattress with his well-worn and slightly dirty threaded blanket over top of him, a mirror image of Castiel himself. Jealousy fills his heart the more his tired eyes settle. With every second he is reminded of how different Jimmy is from him. He easily understands social norms, he is everything his dad wanted them both to be. Castiel could imagine that Jimmy may feel resentment echoing in his soul when looking at Castiel as well, Castiel’s rebellion of their father’s word is what sent them both to the pits of this god forsaken town, exiled and feeling so alone yet always accompanied by the other even though that could only bring the ghost of comfort these days.  
He sobs himself to sleep that night on his own lumpy mattress with his too small blanket. Hatred, sadness, and despair rolling off him in waves with each fresh round of tears.  
He hates himself.  
  
**15 years later..**  
  
This Pendleton just really isn’t doing anything good for him tonight. He smiles at the man who refuses to stop talking to him, it’s really the least he could do. It’s not like he can pay for his own whiskey, his money will be spent on something that's a little more. He knows what this man (James? Jonathan?) is seeing. He knows he looks good. He adds a little more smolder to his expression. J-whateverhisnameis stutters mid-sentence, gulping a quick breath of air, pupils dilating with the thoughts instantly brought to mind. Thoughts that Cas knows will never get their validation.  
He smirks. Happy birthday to me rings through his head as he takes another gulp of his whiskey.  
He has a slight buzz on at this point so he's pretty sure it’s time to leave James (or was it Jonathan, he still wasn’t sure) behind to get his own party started. He revels in the mouth agape, dumbstruck look he is given as he leaves his lover boy at the bar and walks out without a proper goodbye or a second thought.  
It’s raining. Fitting be the day. His phone vibrates silently in the pocket of his trench coat.  
“Hello?”  
“Cas.. uh it’s Sam. Where are you? Are you coming home? I mean unless you changed your plans for tonight, uh either way.”  
God he loved Sam’s voice. It may have been the first thing that broke through his barriers since-well-nevermind that. Dangerous thought. Sam is nothing more than a roommate to him. I mean its possible that he might want to fuck him into the mattress, but that is besides the point. Sam provides all that he could ever want, even without sex, and he could be content with it that way.  
It’s a long walk to the apartment. Chilly if he would have cared enough to think about it, but for now he has one thing on his mind. He needs to get away from this day, from the past. He needs to just go.  
Sam opens the door on the second knock, stepping aside to make way for a soaked Cas who squishes as he walks.  
“Hello, Sam.”  
“Dude. Stop being so formal. We literally live together, you’re killing me. You know that? And you’re sloshing water everywhere, go change or something. Jesus. And where the hell did your keys go?”  
Sam is a giant. The sweats that Cas chose happen to be Sam’s and are much too large. They hang low over his hips and leave just the right amount to be desired. Or so he (sort of) hopes. Sam had never touched him, much less looked at him as anything other than a friend. That being said there was one point where Cas had come home drunk and kissed him square on the mouth one night, and Sam may have even kissed him back a bit. Or was the alcohol playing tricks on his mind? It tended to trick him occasionally. He stops to scratch the small marks in the crook of his arms before stepping out of the room in his roommates’ sweats, to prove a point of course, what’s a birthday without the hope of getting lucky? Rejection wouldn’t hurt him anyway. He is content either way.  
  
***  
  
Sam had never seen anything more beautiful. I mean, if he liked men. Cas had his sweats on, hanging dangerously low. His happy trail _happily_ moving further below. His blue eyes stunningly bright, full lips slightly chapped but grinning because he knows what he is doing. And oh god his hair. Still damp but somehow is able to stand up in all the right ways, sex hair had never been so sexy. The only flaw on his pale, toned, beautiful body would be the track marks. Why does Cas feel the need to forget when everything in front of him has so much potential? Not like he can talk. After dropping out of school he tried so hard to get a job and make a life for himself. The only way he can make the money he needs in order to front the perfect life when he goes and visits Dean is from the drugs. He didn’t intend on selling, he also didn’t intend on ever trying his own product. But here he is with two syringes and enough of the good stuff to let Cas forget his troubles on his birthday and to let himself forget how backwards his life is.  
  
***  
  
Cas loves watching Sam prep. Watching the needle greedily drink the contents of the spoon is mesmerizing. The way it is sucked from the soaked cotton tuft is beautiful. Enough to make his mouth water at the mere thought of where he will end up this time. Sitting back and letting Sam find his vein and inject his happiness is akin to orgasm, if not better. And then he’s gone. The weight of this world and all the self-loathing is gone. Jimmy is here, Jimmy loves him and doesn’t blame him.  
This trip is hazy, he is floating in warmth. Allowing himself to feel the love that he generally wouldn’t touch with a 10 foot pole. He is forgiven, he is loved. While here, he is everything that his normal self isn’t. He feels as though he has wings, large and beautiful spreading from his back. He is an angel basking in his own glow, the warmth from his father’s and brother’s love. Whispering lost affirmations into his ears with every second he is in his zone.  
All too soon he is back. The cold is nearly startling. The emptiness and hatred come back to him. He is nothing. The tears spring to his eyes on their own accord. He hates this part.  
Compose yourself, you pathetic sap.  
He doesn’t know how long he sits there, piecing together his cold, stoic exterior before he recognizes the gurgling he can hear beside him.  
God please no...  
It all happened so fast after he came down. Sam was vomiting, laying on his back unable to breath. He aspirates. Even after he is on his side and has the foam and vomit cleared from his airway there is no way Cas can tell if he is going to survive. Should he call the cops? No. NO. They will be arrested, not an option. Not for Sam at least.  
Shit. Think, think.  
Brother. Sam has a brother.  
Fuck. What is Sam’s passcode on his phone? Fuck fuck fuck. 1,2,3,4. So simple, if the situation were different he would make a comment but now is obviously not the time. God his hands are shaking ferociously. He needs to get a grip. Sam needs him now.  
Dean Winchester.  
Sam dotes on him. He picks up on the third ring despite the late hour.  
“Sammy I-"  
“Hello, Dean.”  
“Who the fuck-"  
“Come to the apartment now. I’ll explain when you get here.”  
Cas realizes now that his emotions are off. There is nothing left for him to do but wait with his Sam. No tears, no caring. Clean emotional detachment, or at least his attempt at that.


	2. Anger, The Other Fire Haunting D. Win.

**“DADDY NO!”**  
John ran back to the house, to the fire, to find Mommy and Sammy. He left him without looking back despite his pleas. He didn’t understand. He ran after Daddy, towards the fire and the screams.  
Smoke filled his lungs, made tears cut paths down his cheeks through the ash and smoky residue. Daddy. Mommy. Sammy. Where are you? He followed the soft mewls of a baby until he found his Sammy.   
Daddy had Sammy on the floor with him.  
Daddy why aren’t you moving? Daddy?  
He knew Daddy was gone, he wish he knew where though because if he was still here this would be way easier. Daddy was at the base of the stairs, eyes open and unseeing. He hopes Mommy was outside, maybe she could help him find where real Daddy went, this one couldn’t be real. The flames were billowing their way down the stairs towards them, the beams groaning above them in an effort to stay strong until their precious cargo vacates.  
Sammy nuzzled against his chest as he scooped him up, instincts urging him to run to the door as the flames licked at his heels. Yes Daddy, I’ll keep Sammy safe.  
 **“NO!”**  
Dean awoke with a start, covered in flames. Drowning him, suffocating him, wrapped around him tight and hot. He has to get out, has to get away. “Uumph” He falls out of bed and hits the floor hard, realizing a little too late that he was wrapped up in his own sheets. Stifling his own condescending snort towards himself, he unwraps and shakes himself off. He needs to get ahold of himself. These nightmares have been plaguing him ever since Sam had left again for his new semester. He needs to shove this shit back down, Sammy is safe.   
Dean pads softly down the hall, stopping in the kitchen to run some cool water over his face. He needs to shake off the split-second feeling of resentment which he tries to bury deep within his soul towards his father for leaving him to go back to the fire. He gulps, fighting to breathe while swallowing down the disgust he feels for himself. Sammy is okay. Everything will be just fine if only he could just get out of his own God damn head. Just because Sam had that look on his face when he left doesn’t mean that anything is wrong. The look that means Sammy was keeping something from him, Dean hates that look. If Sammy was in trouble he would come back, he would talk to him, Sammy loves to have those girly ass talks over EVERYTHING. With a smirk that only God can see he realizes that he is trying to convince himself of the impossible, he will always worry about his younger brother. While Sam may be basically sasquatch, it is his job to watch over his sasquatch and God damn him if he hadn’t done a good job. Sammy was brilliant, he was in college and had a good head on his shoulders despite all that they had gone through as children. Dean did his best to shield him from everything, to take the brunt of the heartache that found their way past Uncle Bobby straight to them. He never wanted Sammy to be looked at as the poor boy who lost his parents. Sammy is the genius, the wanna-be lawyer that will have that apple pie life that Dean himself secretly dreamed of yet would never deserve or obtain. He goes back to bed, leaving an unfilled and forgotten glass on the counter, to fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.  
His phone startles him awake. 3:00AM and Sammy is calling him? He groans at the thought of having a girly talk about the dreams that haunt him nightly. Especially when it’s so early.  
“Sammy I-"  
“Hello, Dean”  
“Who the fuck-"  
“Come to the apartment now. I’ll explain when you get here.”  
Click. The line goes dead, the silence is deafening. Who the _fuck_ thinks that they can call him from Sam’s phone and demand they go to his apartment at 3 in the fucking morning? Despite his apprehension he quickly shrugs on a shirt and his favorite worn pair of jeans. That guy, whoever the fuck he was, had the flattest most emotionless tone to his voice he had ever heard. The thick gravel of his voice was even, slightly rushed if that. However, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was so, so wrong. He grabs the keys to his baby and is out the door before he could give the strange voice on the other end of the line another thought. His baby roars to life, ready to take him to his world, his Sammy.  
40 minutes is an eternity when you are scared shitless. The roar of Baby’s engine does nothing to sooth his frayed nerves as he nears the apartment. The drive from Lawrence to Kansas City is generally a quick and pleasant drive up I-70, but tonight the rain is too thick, the other drivers too slow, and his mind too muddled.   
Sam’s apartment is close to the community college campus, Dean made sure of that. Only the best for his baby brother. Even if he was just getting a transfer degree to go to a four year. Kansas City Community College had done Sam well, at least as far as Dean is concerned.  
He parks in the no parking zone in front of the quaint complex, who gives a shit right, and runs to the apartment. He knocks, tries the door to no avail, and hears footsteps coming towards them. The man who opens the door is beautiful. All blue eyes and sex hair. If he would have looked closer, he would have seen the deep bags and unhappy frown lines that go along with it. However, he is much more concerned with the giant lump, breathing softly on the couch, covered in vomit.  
Those wide, soulful blue eyes shut real quickly after Dean's fist connected with that pretty face of his, though.


	3. Push and Pull and Puke

Sammy. Oh God please Sammy, be okay, wake up, please.  
  
Dean chooses to ignore the son of a bitch that he had nearly knocked out as he groans on the floor. Sammy wouldn’t just do this, this is not who he is. Heroin? I mean how would he even get this stuff? It has to be that dude’s fault. No way was this Sammy. On his knees in front of his unconscious brother he prays. He is not a religious man but _“please God if you can save my brother I will be”_. He doesn’t know what to do. He feels lost, adrift on the open sea with nothing to tie him down. He is floating, floating above fear and all rational thought.  
911 is no go. Sam is breathing, just out cold. As far as he can tell at least. No amount of shaking, rubbing, crying, or pleading has woken him up so far. He doesn’t even mind being slumped over in his young brother’s vomit if that would mean Sam would wake up. The weird dude is now simply slumped against the wall staring, the combination of Dean’s anger and pride wont allow him to look the stranger in the eyes. Not yet at least.  
The staring is getting creepy. He feels the blue eyes boring into his back like a drill. Daring him to turn around. Poking the bear so to speak.  
“FUCK. What in shit’s sake are you staring at?!”  
“Oh. Uh. You.”  
What the fuck? What is this guys problem? Dean pulls his eyes away from his baby brother to glare at the stranger behind him. He now notices the bags under the mans eyes, or well eye. The left eye is swollen shut and beginning to bruise thanks to yours truly. He notices the marks on his arms, the scabbed openings where he had been pumping death into his veins. Dean recognizes the sweats as his brothers, much too large for the man in front of him. Low enough to draw attention, vomit smeared on the front.  
“What the fuck are you to him?”  
“Uh roommate. U-uh friend. Uh-“  
“God damnit quit stuttering.” Dean was beyond his breaking point. Zero patience for this fucker. “What in the fuck happened here, what did you do to my brother?” He is being snappy and he can see the barely contained fear as the other man flinches, like his words were a whip.  
  
***  
  
“I-my name is Castiel. You can call me Cas. I uh live here with Sam. We are friends. We, well it’s my birthday and your brother offered, uh he doesn’t do this very often and it must have just been too much for him or something, I don’t know. He has never vomited before. As soon as I was able to I cleared his airway. I couldn’t call the cops or the ambulance Dean, I don’t want your brother to be labeled like that, he deserves so much more.  
He talks about you, you know. All of the time, nonstop. When he is high he mumbles about you even. I don’t know what he sees or where he goes but it always ends with you. He loves you more than anything I’ve ever seen. He will be okay. I have faith in that.”  
His confession rushed out of him, starting formal then quickly melting. Something about Dean Winchester made Castiel feel as though he could tell him everything. Despite being punched in the face, despite the smirk he was given as Dean admired his own handiwork, his face must look like a mess if it amused Dean that much. But this was his fault. He was the bad guy here. He needs to stop meeting Winchesters this way.  
  
***  
  
Before Sam had ever met Castiel he was drifting through his classes. Everything seemed out of focus, he couldn’t possibly keep this up. He was drifting unhappily through his own existence. But Dean was so happy. So happy because he thinks Sam is alright and on his way to a 4 year, he thinks he shielded Sam from the crippling loss off their mother and father, even though it was Sam’s fault. Dean is so happy that Sam is finally okay. But he’s not okay.  
It was a small pub. Sam is young, really young, but can handle his liquor almost as well as his brother, he loves that fact. He is nursing his scotch at the bar tonight, upset that he had failed yet another test. He was beginning to fail his classes and these were only classes going towards his transfer degree, not even related to law! What was he doing with his life? Simply wasting Dean’s tuition money on failed classes. He was hopeless, and deep in thought when a tan trenchcoat sat in the seat beside him.  
Blue eyes. Mesmerizing blue eyes. Sam never liked men but if he did, this dude would be his type. He catches himself staring, averting his eyes before he gets caught. Oogling like a school girl would so get him an asswhooping from Dean if he were here.  
“Hello, Sam.”  
The low gravelly voice startles him. The man beside him knows his name? How?  
“How-"  
“The bartender. He seems to know you well. First name basis already? Are you even 21?”  
Sam ignores smirk he is given. He knows he has a babyface, he has been aware of that for forever at this point and he is sick of it. And who the hell does this guy think he is? He came here to relax, not be ridiculed over something he can’t change. Fine. He will leave, he is throwing a temper tantrum that he can’t control and doesn’t care. When he stands he towers over that stupid blue eyed son of a bitch anyways.  
It’s a cool night, fall quarter had just started. The heat of the day wanes and leaves a chill at night. Nothing that this baby faced giant can’t handle though as he sets off into the night towards his apartment.  
It takes about 30 seconds for him to register that there is somebody walking behind him, getting closer, reaching for him..  
He flips around and punches his would-be assailant right in the nose. Hopefully he broke it, NOBODY sneaks up on a Winchester.  
“OW! You ass, I think you broke my nose!”  
Blue eyes rimmed with tears gaze up at him from the ground.  
Christ, this guy again? Sam helps him up and swats his hands away to examine the damage.  
“Nope, not broken, unfortunately. What the hell are you doing following me?”  
Castiel breathes through his mouth, sucking in rivulets of blood and mucus as he does so. “Not following. Just wanted to apologize.”  
“Oh. Sorry I guess, uh for the nose. I’m Sam, do you want to come with me so I can clean you up and feel like less of an asshole?”  
“I’m Castiel. Uh yeah, sure.”  
From then on, they became friends. Sam remembers everything, finding out Cas was homeless and offering him the second bedroom, finding out Cas was an addict, finding out after Cas came home from a drunken night at the bar that Cas wanted him. They were both broken but they found a way to make their friendship work. Two broken pieces able to fit together as a whole. The drugs were generally in the background of their lives, even after Sam quit school and began dealing. In the short 8 months they had known each other, they had become each other’s pillars of strength and support.  
Cas was a sad human being. Sam could figure as much without digging and putting his nose somewhere it shouldn’t be. He had this hard, often sarcastic, emotionless exterior but on the inside his emotions raged. When Cas was strung out he always mentioned Jimmy. Jimmy became an unknown but permanent fixture in Sam’s life. He had to be the reason his friend was hurting so badly. However, if Sam ever asked, Cas would clam up and just stare with wide eyes. Like he was transported back in time, eyes open yet unseeing.  
  
***  
  
Dean slumped against the couch. Exhausted. Sammy was breathing but still checked out. He was helpless and there is nothing that he hates more than being helpless. Other than being alone. And now he is helpless and completely alone. Nobody can know about this. I mean except for Castiel (what kind of psycho ass name is that anyways?) he is alone in his grief. He will lose Sammy like he lost mom and dad, in a split second that leads to an eternity of lonliness. He wants so badly to take him to the hospital, to take him to the police so Sam and Cas go to jail and learn a lesson, he wants something to be done, or something to do other than just waiting here.  
  
***  
  
“Do you want food? I’m starving.”  
With a flick of his glassy eyes Cas comes back, attention being pulled from wherever he had gone to find solace and focuses on Dean with a nod. He begins standing up from where he had slumped down on the floor to show Dean where everything is when he is promptly shoved out of the way with nothing more than a snarl of “I know where my fucking brother’s food is kept”.  
Okay. So Dean won’t forgive him. He expects that. He can feel the sting of guilt in his stomach. Twisting large knots, making him nauseous. He runs to the bathroom, barely able to lift up the seat before a mixture of whiskey and bile spills out of his mouth. He wretches for what seems like hours. The burn of the vomit is comforting. He deserves any pain he receives. Sam was too good for this, too good for him and Cas had turned him sour, like everything else in this life he touches.  
At some point during the vomiting there is a large rough hand rubbing circles on his back. A kindness that he doesn’t deserve. A glass of water is thrust to his face and he takes it greedily, like this water will cleanse him of all the wrong he has done. This water was brought to him by an angel. An angel with green, tear filled eyes. Turning to leave him on the cold bare floor, words tumble from his perfect mouth, twisting around Castiel and stabbing him with threads of hope. Stinging his unwilling flesh.  
“I want to hate you, you know. I want to blame this on you instead of my brother, but you are just so fucking pathetic when you hurl I just can’t quite manage it.”  
Okay. So maybe things will be okay. Maybe he didn’t fuck it all up. Sam is breathing, and there are delicious smells wafting through the door coming from the kitchen.  
“CAS get out here NOW. He isn’t BREATHING. Help me”


	4. Who Knew Air Was a Ball and Chain

The small whoosh of air as it entered Sam’s lungs was beautiful. Possibly one of the most beautiful things that Dean had ever heard. Just as suddenly as he had stopped breathing, he started again. No rhyme or reason. Cas had run to Sam, rubbing and thumping his back as you would with a baby to stimulate their breathing. His pale forehead pressed gently to Sam’s shoulder as Sam began to breathe again.  
Dean felt out of place watching them in that moment, his bacon was burning anyway. He was useless and hadn’t known what to do. He lumbered back to the kitchen, to his burnt bacon in a feeble attempt to hide his tear streaked face. What would he do without Sammy? How could he not know what his own brother was doing? His whole world revolved around Sam, there was nobody else. He choked back a sob. Sammy can’t leave him, he can’t be left alone. He was supposed to keep him safe but here he is, comatose on a couch fucked up on heroin.  
He felt Cas’ presence more so than he heard him. He was less than a foot away, reaching out to touch him. His hand was warm on Dean’s shoulder. Comforting. Before he could stop himself Dean leaned into the touch. He needs that touch right now, the comforting pressure on his shoulder was a reminder that this was real, that Sam was breathing. The hand on his shoulder soon became two. One hand sliding down his back and resting on his hip, Cas pulling himself closer til their bodies were nearly flush. So warm and nice. The sinewy body that had begun to wrap around him felt like enough to save him. Cas’ steady breath on the back of his neck raised goosebumps on Deans arms, his body sensitized to the smallest touch now. Lips on the base of his neck, his dick giving a small approving twitch to that.  
The bacon was now officially burnt beyond repair. He shrugged out of Cas’ grip to dump his failure in the trash. The now cold eggs will have to do. He thrusts a plate at Cas with an unapologetic shrug. He was not sorry to end that little moment, no way was he going to let a dude he didn’t know touch him like that. He shouldn’t like that, he shouldn’t feel a deep burn of want whenever those beautiful blue eyes flick down his body. No way. The gorgeous man in front of him was responsible for the mess his brother was in.  
  
***  
  
Cas couldn’t stop himself. The man in front of him was broken. Attempting to salvage bacon while breaking apart piece by piece and it was his fault. He didn’t know what to do. Before he could stop himself he reached out to touch him. It was electric. Dean leaned into his touch and he couldn’t help himself as he reached out his other hand, moving closer, trying to keep the electricity going, he needed more of him. He laid his lips on the base of Dean’s neck and felt the soft shudder course from his body to Deans. All too soon Dean pulled away and thrust a portion of cold eggs at him. He couldn’t help the frown that showed on his face or the slump of his shoulders as he walked around the counter and sat on a bar stool.  
Cas fumbled with his eggs, unable to eat. The annoyance was shown on Dean’s face as he watched after inhaling his own portion. He couldn’t find it in him to eat, his stomach was in knots, a deep seated want for Dean filling him up already, the guilt adding an uncomfortable load to his already full belly. The groaning he heard made him freeze in place whereas Dean took off to the living room immediately. Redeeming himself for his lack of action earlier.  
  
***  
  
Sam had the most horrendous taste in his mouth. Chunks of God knows what were stuck to his tongue, the sick tang of bile still in his throat. And the thirst. He doubts he had ever been so thirsty in his life. His body ached as he moved, a small groan escaped his lips.  
  
“Sam?”  
  
He had never heard his brother’s voice so hesitant. So strangled and fearful.  
“Hey help me up, I need to pee.”  
That was the best Sam could do for now. And it was true, his bladder was about to explode. He couldn’t think of anything other than the incredible pressure he felt inside him. The small streaks of light from the early morning illuminated the bathroom. The water that he splashed over his face and in his mouth felt nearly holy. A revitalizing stream that sends a chill down his spine. This will not be a fun conversation. In no way is he ready to tell his brother what a fuckup he had become. Getting the courage to stumble from the bathroom is going to take time, finding what to say to his brother is going to take even longer.  
  
***  
  
“Christ its been 20 minutes, what the hell could he be doing?”  
“I know its not my place but uh perhaps he is nervous. He dotes on you, I would be terrified too”  
Cas was right, Dean knew he was right. But this is his brother they were talking about and there's no way Dean would ever admit that. Dean was taken aback by the thought that he could intimidate his gigantor brother. He can’t decide if he wants to refute Cas’ point or if he wants to continue to glare.  
A throat clears behind him.  
“Dean I uh, I am so sorry. I know you’re probably so angry and I uh don’t blame you but you need to understand. You need to understand my side of the story, I want you to understand my side of the story. I can’t do this, I can’t live this life. I can’t do it anymore. I know how much you give up to help me with school but its just not what I want anymore. I cant force myself to do this and you cant force me either. I’ve only uh done this a couple of times, and uh just so you know its not Cas’ fault. I choose to do what I do, me and only me. You didn’t make me do this and neither did he. Get that look off your face.”  
Dean nearly has to physically manhandle his face into composure. He realized that he had been making a face eerily similar to Sam’s Bitchface 2.0. Not his fault? How could he have not been able to see that something was wrong? Guilt bloomed in his chest, a dark flower that generally was able to be kept a bud, now returning full bloom, center stage. Rage fought for a place beside the darkness, a deep passionate red threading through his chest, tendrils leaking through him and filling any place the darkness hasn’t touched. A deep heat running through his veins. How could this have happened? Oh. Sam was still talking.  
“-so yeah. Uh. I need help Dean. I’m so sorry I didn’t ask sooner. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you”  
He is so torn between wanting to leave and needing to stay. Leaving, at least for the time being wins out. He needs to time to sort, most of all he needs a drink.


	5. It's Better When We're Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes depictions of child rape and sexual abuse. Don't read it if its gonna get to you. It's pretty messed up, I admit.

Coffee was not quite the drink he was planning on but he had promised himself (unfortunately) that he would stop drinking before 10 in the morning. The diner was small and not very busy, the perfect spot to allow Dean to get lost in his thoughts. The guilt and shame swirled in his chest like a heavy ribbon, dragging across his ribcage and squeezing his chest. How could he have not seen this beforehand? He should have listened to that nagging feeling that had plagued him last time he had seen Sammy. It was his job to take care of his little brother and he had failed.  
  
***  
  
After their parents had died, he had tried his best to shield Sam from all the bad that was thrown at them. Due to their Uncle Bobby’s alcoholism, they were unable to stay with him and were thrown into the foster system. Foster care, in theory, is great. Why not be in a loving family environment when it wasn’t an option with your own family? Well, as you know, being stuck in the system was not what they thought it would be. Luckily enough Sammy and him were a set of cute, quiet brothers so they weren’t shown as much contempt in the homes as some of the others who lived there. Most of the homes they were in consisted of themselves, some other foster kids, and the parents who generally were just in it for the money. Still, at least for the first 5 years or so, things weren’t so bad.  
Sammy held one of his hands, their garbage bags of belongings in his other, as they walked up the steps to the rundown house. From what Dean had heard, there were three other little boys here at the house and a dad. Sammy would be the youngest at barely 5 years old. Dean was sure his hands would be full with trying to protect his brother. It was always so hard coming to a new home, especially one where they wouldn’t even meet you in front of the house.  
A dirty boy, maybe 13 years old, answered on the second knock. His sandy hair was matted, his clothes were filled with holes and dirt. His face was emotionless and hardened from whatever circumstances the brothers were about to enter that lay inside. His dark brown eyes seemed to be bulging slightly in their sockets.  
Oh.  
So they were not walking into a happy home. That’s okay, they probably weren’t going to stay here long. They’ve been in situations like this before and they could do it again. Dean was only 9 but he could take care of business if it meant that Sammy was safe.  
The house was dirty. There were holes in the plaster along every wall they could see. All was quiet except for static on the television. Dean could see through a cracked open door on his left a tall, sweaty man slumped over in a chair in front of the TV, a bottle of Rolling Rock half empty in his hand.  
The dirty so-far nameless boy led them up the stair case on their right, careful to avoid the creaking spots and pointing for Dean and Sam to do the same. At the top of the landing there was a bathroom on the right, a closed door on the left to which the boy pointed to and with his other hand he made a slicing motion across his neck while he shook his head, and a slightly ajar door about a 2 yards ahead of them. The boy brought them into the room with the open door, making sure to be quiet as he stepped through. Dean almost couldn’t process what he had been shown so far. The house was like really bad, one of the worst he had seen, and the whole throat thing with the closed door had mildly freaked him out, but what sent him over the edge was the three stained twin mattresses that were shoved into the small room, each being claimed by a boy already.  
The door clicked shut behind them and finally the boy who had been showing them around spoke.  
“My name is Matt. That one is Jaymie and the runt is Nathan. I'll share a mattress with Nathan so you two can have mine. Stay in the room unless you need to go to the bathroom or if Alastair requests you, never go in the room with the closed door, food is left outside our door occasionally and you have to make it last. School starts in August, if you’re still here at that point it gets better. Try not to talk too much and I am so sorry that you both ended up here.”  
“Oh, uh I’m Dean, this is Sam. Nice to meet you guys. Thanks, Okay.”  
Sam was grabbing onto Dean’s shirt and stayed quiet as they moved across the room to their mattress. He placed their garbage bags next to their area and sat down with Sam, intent on entertaining him until it was time to go to bed.  
Sirens blared outside making it impossible for him to fall asleep. The other little boys were already accustomed to the noise and Sammy had his face pressed into Dean, they were all asleep. Dean had heard the man downstairs, Alastair, walking around, looking in the fridge, opening bottles. He startled when the sirens stopped and were replaced with heavy footsteps on the stairs and onto the landing. Alastair waited to catch his breath outside of the door before slowly opening it. Dean scrunched his eyes shut, afraid of what might happen if he was found to be awake. He tried to keep his breathing even as he sensed the man approach. The smell of sweat and beer rolled past, nearly making Dean gag. He felt Alastair kneel next to them and raise his hand. Sammy moved, uncomfortable even in his sleep when Alastair brushed his fingers through his hair.  
Dean couldn’t let this happen. He may have been young but he knew something was wrong. He opened his eyes and moved to sit up and look this monster in the eye. Alastair had a lean face and soulless eyes. Soulless eyes that quietly took in what was being offered to him. With a smirk he stood up and extended his hand to Dean. Anything to help his Sammy.  
Alastair opened the door to the room down the hall. Dean trembled softly as he was shoved inside. The single lightbulb illuminated the room with a slightly hazy glow. There was a bed in the middle of the room, not much more than a mattress really. Rope was tied to the 2x4’s that were being used as a makeshift headboard and footboard. Alastair shoved Dean towards the bed.  
“Take off your clothes”  
Dean’s fingers trembled as he took off his clothes. Shying away from the man who watched him hungrily, he tried to hide his nakedness to no avail.  
“Go to the bed. Lay down.”  
Dean felt tears prick the back of his eyes. His only solace was the fact that it was him instead of Sammy. The dirty sheets crunched beneath him as he laid down in the middle of the bed. Alastair walked to the bed and began to tie his limbs with the rope, ignoring the tears that had begun to spill over the young boy’s face.  
Dean closed his eyes against his helplessness. He tried to hum his favorite Lynrd Skynrd song but the melody wouldn’t come to him. He didn’t see the first slap coming and he couldn’t help the yelp of pain that escaped his lips at the contact.  
“Shutup boy or I’ll grab your brother”  
Dean opened his eyes to see Alastair palming his half erect cock through his pants. He watched the man as he reached forward over Deans stomach to pinch one of his nipples. Dean barely held back a scream as he felt Alastair use his nails. Blood began to pool around the man’s dirty thumb nail. All Dean remembered before he passed out was the groan of approval and sound of skin stroking skin.  
When he came to, the light was off and his arms and legs were untied. Shifting on the bed he bit back a cry. Dried blood stained his chest and sheets. He felt liquid running out of his ass and it didn’t take much to guess what had happened to him. The pain was a pretty good indication of it. He knew from what other boys in the other homes had told him exactly what was done to him. At least it wasn’t Sammy.  
  
***  
  
Dean blinked, the diner coming back into focus. His damn coffee had become cold in his white knuckled grip. He laid down a 5-dollar bill and walked out to the parking lot to his baby. He had no clue what he was going to do, no plan, but he knew he needed to be with his brother.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every chapter is so short and there are no promises for when I will get the next one out. Don't hate me for it ha!

Sam had left the apartment not long after Dean had left, leaving Cas to himself. He had fucked up badly, nearly losing his best friend was the scariest thing to have happened to him in quite a few years. He needed to get ahold of himself. He can’t do this again to a person he relies on, he will not be responsible for another person’s death. Sam’s blood will not be on his hands.  
Thoughts were raging like a stormy ocean when he stepped into the shower. The hot water ran in rivulets down his body, helping to wash his body and mind clean. The shampoo felt so nice in his hair and the soap felt so wonderful on his body. He finally felt clean. He felt the water running down his chest and stomach, running over every bare inch of skin it could find. The warmth seeped into his body, warming him and calming his nerves.  
With every spec of dirt he felt running down his body, the more turned on he became. Just the thought of his body being pure was almost enough to make him cry out with pleasure. Self hatred stopped him in his tracks, he didn’t deserve to feel anything other than pain. He quickly switched to cold water and gasped when it hit his sensitive body. Groaning, he shut off the shower and grabbed his towel, wrapping it around himself to head to his room.  
Walking out of the bathroom he let out a small yelp. Dean was back, standing in the doorway and staring at him. He saw Dean’s eyes travel down his body, pausing at his hip bones and the slight bulge beneath them covered by the towel before they came back to his face. Cas felt his still semi-hard dick twitch in interest under the scrutiny of Dean’s hungry eyes. Before he knew it though, those eyes darkened with rage as opposed to lust. Dean stalked toward him, raising his fist to land a punch (hopefully in his non-injured eye).  
Luckily enough, Dean missed. Not luckily enough, his momentum carried him forward into Cas, causing them both to tumble to the floor. Before he could even understand what was going on he felt Dean wrap his fingers around his throat. Staring into the greenest eyes he had ever seen more than made up for the lack of oxygen. Blue meeting green drown out all else, so much so that Cas didn’t even feel the fingers relax their grip around his throat. He lifted his head to press a small kiss to the other man’s lips, testing to see how far he could go. Dean hummed in approval, grinding down and tightening his fingers slightly.  
Dean smelled like whiskey, leather and sandalwood. The smell clouded his senses. The kiss was ferocious, having Dean grinding his hips down on him made it just that much better. Cas raked his hands from Dean’s sandy hair towards his ass, feeling his nails scrape the leather jacket that Dean still had on. Dean tensed, growling, he grabbed Cas’ hands and held them above his head. “Don’t you fucking touch me. Keep your hands up.”  
Before he knew what was happening, Dean had rolled him over and removed the towel that had been tied loosely around his waist. He moaned his approval when he felt Dean suck bruises into his neck and shoulders. The sound of a zipper being unzipped was like music to his ears, feeling Dean’s cock resting on his ass and dripping precome down his cleft was nearly too much to bear. Dean quickly spit into his palm and rubbed it along his own shaft before gathering some of the beaded moisture gathered at the tip and rubbing it over Cas’ sensitive rim.  
A soft hiss escaped his lips when he felt the velvety head of Dean’s cock begin to nudge inside him. He was not prepped in the least and the pain that he felt was nearly too much to bear. Before he could even hope to get accustomed to the pain, Dean’s hard length was replaced by a spit slicked set of fingers. He felt his ass clench against the sudden full intrusion, the sudden feeling of fullness being not nearly enough but almost too much at the same time. Fingers worked their way in and out of his hole, thrusting in and out with intense fervor. Warm breath and plush lips ghosted down Cas’ back, his body felt as if it were on fire, the only relief coming from the fingers that were quickly opening him from the inside out and the movement of breath tickling his skin.  
  
***  
  
Cas was a writhing mess underneath him. It took all he had not to just take what he wanted, but no matter how much of an angry fuck this is, he did not want to hurt the other man. Not when it comes to this. He will never do what was done to him. He spread Cas’ legs a bit wider and reveled in feeling his strong legs begin tense against his own legs, watching his ass lift up off the floor and clench around his fingers, begging for more. Dean quickly spit in his hand and rubbed his saliva on his cock, ignoring the slightly pathetic mewl that poured from Castiel’s lips at the loss of his fingers.  
“Please Dean, please.”  
“Shh, I got you”  
He lined his dripping dick up with Cas’ entrance, nudging his cockhead inside. Cas pushed himself back onto his dick an unrestrained moan. The site of that tight little hole swallowing every inch of his dick was nearly enough to make Dean come right then and there. He shut his eyes with a shudder, letting the wet heat consume him.  
A tight-lipped whine broke through his thoughts and brought him back. Pulling out til he could see Cas’ tight rim hugging his crown and then snapping his hips back as hard as he could was nearly enough to make him believe in God. The feeling was complete rapture. He could not hold back the moan that burst from his throat, wrapping his hand around the back of Cas’ neck to steady himself as he lost himself in his own thrusts. The familiar sound of skin slapping on skin was broken as Cas went rigid beneath him, a scream ripping from his throat as he came, painting the floor beneath him. Deans orgasm hit him like a train. Toppling over him while Cas’ clenched muscles milked him dry.  
He unwillingly pulled out so he could flip Cas onto his back. Blue eyes stared at him, slightly unfocused but still intense. He couldn’t repress the shudder that ran through him as he slowly licked a path up the other man’s come smeared belly. Those blue eyes just did something for him.


End file.
